


Listening in to the Darker World

by shaenie



Category: Stargate: Atlantis, The Dark Tower
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-24
Updated: 2010-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 03:56:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaenie/pseuds/shaenie





	Listening in to the Darker World

They step through the gate, just like any other day, Ronon at John's side, McKay in the middle, and Teyla on their six; the MALP had shown a vast and empty field, and the Ancient Database had had nothing to say about P44-336, but there is an energy reading that McKay insists is impossible. There's always an energy reading. Ronon lifts his nose to the faint breeze and sniffs, his shaggy head swinging from side to side. "I smell something," he says, a faint furrow between his brows, and John is about to ask for something a little more specific when the wormhole disengages with a whoosh, and there is an unfortunately familiar sound behind them, the distinctive ratcheting ka-chuck of a gun cocking.

John frowns a little, because the sound is familiar, but still a little weird for Pegasus, where projectile weapons tend to be either fairly modern (theirs), and thus don't need to be cocked, or fairly alien (Genii), and thus don't have many of the more distinctive characteristics of weapons from Earth. He raises his hands while he frowns, though (leaving his P-90 dangling from its strap against the cradle of his hips, hoping that his body conceals enough of it that whoever is behind them can't see it), because he's not stupid.

"Hey, there," he drawls, and turns his head slowly, more to get an idea of where all his own people are than to get a look at whoever just got the drop on them. Ronon is looking sideways at him, hands well away from his body, though John can see his right hand twitching in anticipation. He twitches one corner of his lips in acknowledgment of the eyebrow that John quirks at him, and doesn't move. A little behind him, Rodney has both hands up, and the lifesigns detector he'd been holding is on the ground between his feet. Face up.

John smiles when Rodney mouths the word four at him.

Oh, good, John thinks. Even odds. He likes even odds; he has yet to meet any other four people as kick-ass as his team.

Teyla is a couple of feet behind Rodney, hands spread and away from her body, but not raised. She's got her head cocked, listening, but appears serene and unworried. She is right behind Rodney, though, her body between his and whoever is behind them, and John thinks, I've got the best team.

He isn't actually worried, yet. Sadly, this kind of thing happens to them all the time, and it doesn't always end badly. In a galaxy full of life-sucking space vampires, better safe than sorry is a way of life.

"We come in peace," John says, because he fucking loves saying it, it will never not be funny, and he'd think the snort he gets in response was Rodney's except he's looking right at Rodney when it comes. Rodney arches both brows at him; he doesn't look amused.

"Eddie," someone says, a male voice, slow and deep; it causes goosebumps to shudder up John's arms, and he has no idea why.

John isn't surprised when someone circles into his line of sight, isn't surprised at the huge-ass revolver (it's the size of Ronon's energy pistol; the bore looks like a fucking tunnel) that's trained on him, isn't surprised at the careful grace and competence with which he moves; what surprises him are the jeans the guy is wearing, familiar and foreign at the same time, and doubly incongruous because of the deerskin shirt they're topped off with. The guy – a kid, really, maybe twenty five or so, tops -- is smiling, at ease, not exactly friendly, but not unfriendly either. He says, "Hey, that's a cool gun."

John blinks and hears himself say, "It's not the coolest I've ever seen, but it doesn't suck." His own voice sounds distant to him.

There is something naggingly, unsettlingly familiar about this guy. John is simultaneously certain he's never seen him before in his life, and that he should know who he is.

The guy, Eddie, nods genially. "Why don't you put it down?" It's an order, but a gentle one, and the look on the kid's face is vaguely sympathetic when John hesitates. Probably Eddie thinks John is worried about being unarmed in the face of the kid's really big gun, but that's not actually it.

John is worried because he isn't worried.

He has hunches all the time, and as a rule he isn't opposed to listening to what his gut tells him, but this feels... This whole thing feels weird. He isn't afraid; he isn't even anxious. But he's thrumming, suddenly, with something bright and hectic, anticipation or excitement.

"Sheppard," Ronon says, dubious, not a question.

"We don't want to hurt you," Eddie says, and John believes it.

"It's okay, Ronon," John says, and unslings the P90's strap with slow, exaggerated care. He isn't afraid, but he's not stupid, either. He believes that Eddie doesn't want to hurt them, but he can see the wary tension of war in the kid's face and shoulders, and John's seen enough action to know that you don't startle someone who has had to make peace with being a killer of men. "Sidearm, too?" John asks, and hears Ronon rumble softly with disapproval.

Eddie, watching John with something like speculation furrowing his brows, looks past him for an instant. "Nah, that's okay. You could never get to it in time." He smiles as he says it, not quite smug, but certain. "The other machine guns, though," he says, and gestures with the barrel of the cannon he's holding, probably at Rodney and Teyla, who also have P90's. John automatically compensates, putting himself between Rodney and the kid's gun. The kid's eyes flicker with something, but he adjusts his aim back to John deliberately, and John relaxes slightly.

"Colonel?" Rodney asks, a question.

"Yeah, go ahead," he says, and adds, "Slow and easy," for McKay's benefit, as Teyla already knows.

Eddie relaxes visibly when Rodney and Teyla stop moving behind John. "Great," he says, and casually jams his giant gun into a holster on his hip. "I'm Eddie Dean. So, what the hell is that thing?" He gestures at something behind John, the 'gate probably, John thinks dimly, but he doesn't even turn to look.

The sudden pounding of blood in his ears is cacophonous and echoing, and John can't think anything but, Eddie Dean, Eddie Dean, Eddie Dean, over and over again. He's turning away from Eddie (Dean, Eddie Dean) before he can stop himself, taking two steps and looking, searching, because...

"Roland," he says faintly, and the world goes grainy and gray for a few seconds during which John realizes he's perilously close to fainting. He doesn't, though, just sways a little, and stares at Roland Deschain with the distant memory of the rush of empty air blowing past his ears, falling, falling again.

"Colonel!" Rodney snaps, suddenly right beside him, a hand on John's arm, and

"Sheppard!" Ronon echoes, voice tense with impending violence, and John somehow finds himself reaching out for Ronon, capturing his wrist just as Ronon's hand settles on the butt of his gun.

"Don't," he says, and Rodney inhales sharply and goes shatteringly tense, fingertips digging into John's biceps, and John knows before he looks up and sees the enormous barrel of Roland's revolver already trained on them. "Everybody just settle down," he drawls, slow and shaky, and then he takes a deep breath and tries to follow his own advice. "Nobody is shooting anybody today."

But he can't stop staring at Roland, at how he looks older and almost desperately tired, and Roland is looking back, eyes just a little wide, not recognition, but almost, almost. Roland looks like he's seen a ghost, pale and strained, mouth a tight line.

"Bert," Roland grinds out, and John doesn't know the name, but he isn't exactly surprised. "Cuthbert?"

"Roland, sugar," a woman says, and John sees her with a sharp stab of recognition, though he's never met her, not even in the weird not-real dreamworld in which he'd sort of met Eddie Dean. "You know this gentleman?"

"Susannah?" John hears himself say, and he takes a step forward, taking in the Ruger in a makeshift shoulder rig resting against the curve of her left breast and the wheelchair and the familiar-but-not curl of her mouth and line of her jaw. "Are you Susannah?" he demands, helpless to stop himself, helpless to quiet the harsh, breaking sound of his own voice.

Her mouth falls open a little and she looks at him, really looks at him, her eyes gone narrow and intent. She opens her mouth, but John's gaze has moved onto the fourth member of their little band (ka-tet, he thinks distantly, the word rich and vibrant in his mind), at the boy standing just behind her, one hand curled around one of the push handles on her wheelchair, and before she says anything at all John croaks, "Oh my God," and sits down hard.

The world retreats for a few seconds, and there's nothing but the drumming blood in his ears; John feels sick and shocked and horribly, wrenchingly envious, his head swimming and his gut churning with it. Eventually he becomes aware of the warm, solid feel of Rodney's hand on the back of his neck, Rodney's voice close by saying, "Just breathe, John, breathe," and John obeys, a deep, shuddering breath that makes the nausea retreat somewhat and brings the world back into focus, though he can only see the ground between his combat boots.

He doesn't look up immediately; he needs a few minutes to get it together, to push through the disbelief and the pointless, prickling sense of betrayal and get his mind around...

He jumps when something warm bumps his leg, and opens his eyes to find himself looking into the wide, gold-ringed eyes of something out of his dreams. He doesn't remember it, he doesn't know what it is; it had come to him sometime after the dreams had been waking ones, and he remembers it the way he remembers other dreams: vaguely and distantly. But that same fission of recognition and something about the way it looks at him makes John lift a cautious hand and touch its furry head. A slender pink tongue snakes out of its mouth and swipes across the heel of John's palm, and then it nuzzles its head into his hand, letting him stroke the soft, sleek fur.

"Ake," it barks, and sniffs John's hand and wrist and all the way up his forearm. "Ake, Ake," it tells him, and it's so fucking familiar that John's chest hurts with it.

"John," he corrects it quietly, and it gives him a dubious look.

"His name is Oy," the boy says, and John looks up and sees him like a slap in the face.

"He found you?" John hears himself ask, his voice hoarse and on the edge of pleading, and Rodney's hand tightens on the back of his neck, but John is only barely aware of that. He realizes he's got both his hands on the boys shoulders and he's breathing like he's choking on every inhale. "He saved you?"

"He saved me," Jake Chambers tells him, his eyes bright with recognition and pity, and John lets him go and buries his face in his hands before he can fucking embarrass himself.

**

They leave him alone for a little while, both John's team and Roland's, each group forming a little huddle, separate, but similar. He can hear Rodney, occasionally, voice rising as he makes a point ("...statistically improbable, sure, but in an infinite possibility of universes, not even close to impossible..."), and Teyla throws him concerned looks, but seems willing to wait for John to make a move. Susannah eventually breaks away from her little group and builds a fire; Jake joins her after a minute, the two of them working together with easy familiarity.

It's Eddie Dean who comes first, making damn sure John sees him coming in the manner of a man who recognizes someone as dangerous as he is, and knows how important it is not to sneak up on them. He sits on the rock next to John and rests his elbows on his splayed knees, clasping his hands between them. He doesn't say anything for a long time, which is fine with John.

When he finally does speak, all he seems to be able to manage is, "The house... the door...?"

"I don't know," John says, wishing he knew a way to dispel the specter of guilt he can see haunting Eddie Dean's eyes. "I had the key, but it wasn't enough. There was no way through on my side."

"Did you," Eddie begins carefully, brows furrowed in thought. "We could hear him, before we got it open on our side," he tells John, and his bleak tone tells John all he needs to know about what that had been like. "We could hear him, he could hear us. Could you hear us, Ja- John?"

"No," John says thickly. "You just weren't there."

He hears Eddie swallow, and they sit there silently for a minute, both of them probably wondering the same thing.

Eventually, Eddie asks, "How did you get out? I. Our Jake... We pulled him right out of that goddamned things mouth." His voice was laden with remembered horror.

John looks at him and smirks a little, grateful that he even means it. "The gas was still hooked up," he says, and watches Eddie's face brighten with pleasure. "It was awesome," he says, and Eddie grins at him.

Something loosens in John's chest, and he grins back. Eddie glances over at where Susannah and Jake are laying out something that smells pretty damned good. His gaze doesn't linger, but they both see Roland sitting on a rock a little way further, slowly rolling a cigarette. The look Eddie gives John when their gazes meet again is disturbingly understanding, but all he says is, "So, look, are you guys hungry?"

**

John is torn between wanting desperately to stay, to ask all the questions crowding his brain, and wanting to dial Atlantis and go home right the hell now.

But it turns out to be okay.

They pool what they've got together, and it's weird but not bad. Teyla and Ronon don't ask questions which isn't unusual, but neither does Rodney, which is. He looks at John sidelong a couple of times, and at Jake Chambers almost as often, and John can see his giant brain working, imagines it chewing up data and spitting out theories, but Rodney doesn't ask.

The conversation is a lot less awkward than John would've guessed, considering no one is asking any of the glaring questions, like: What the hell is going on here? and Where are are you people from anyway? No one's asking any questions at all, in fact. It's all almost idle chitchat, which John's finds freakish mostly due to the fact that it's so clear (to him) that the two groups are from such wildly different worlds (universes, realities, whatever) that it's mind-boggling that they have enough in common to even manage idle chitchat. When one of the MREs turns out to have a chocolate bar in it, Roland's posse (sans Roland, who is still sitting on his rock) shares it out a bite at a time, smiling and murmuring among themselves, and John looks away.

John catches Rodney surreptitiously feeding Oy bits of powerbar, and Eddie and Ronon eyeball one another's big guns until Rodney impatiently tells them just to trade for five minutes and be done with it. The two of them give each other measuring looks and simultaneously ignore McKay, but the next time John looks up (from watching Susannah and Teyla, who are sitting knee to knee, talking in low voices and looking, John thinks, eerily similar) the two of them have moved a little bit away and are fondling one another's firearms. Rodney throws him a sideways smirk, and John smirks back, and then there's the familiar sound of Ronon's energy pistol discharging. John shoots to his feet, his sidearm already in his hand, and watches a medium sized boulder disintegrate at the same time that he recognizes Eddie Dean's whoop of delight, and Ronon (Ronon) laughs out loud.

Rodney chuckles softly, but John's gaze is drawn to Roland, who is on his feet, too, and looking at John. He's too far away for John to be able to read his face, but his heart is pounding so hard it feels like it's trying to escape from his chest. Jake is standing beside him and speaking quietly, one hand on Roland's arm; John has to look away from the familiarity of that gesture.

He registers Rodney's hand on his own arm a second later, and looks down to see McKay, expression uncharacteristically sympathetic, looking back at him. He lets Rodney tug on his arm until he sinks back down to the ground, and is grateful when Rodney doesn't say anything at all.

Teyla helps Susannah clean up the remnants of their meal, and John watches dully, aware that it's nearing time to either head back or check in with Atlantis, but carefully not considering what that means.

"That energy reading," he says after a while, and doesn't look up even though he can feel Rodney's gaze boring into the side of his head.

"Yeah, okay," Rodney huffs, probably rolling his eyes, and gets to his feet. "I'm on it."

"Stay in sight," John says automatically, and Rodney gestures irritably at him, tablet already in his hands, and wanders a few feet away.

John stands up, partly to convince himself that this is just a regular mission, and keeping an eye on McKay is part and parcel of that, and partly because he's just too antsy to remain sitting. He trails McKay around the edges of the 'gate, studiously not looking for Roland or for Jake, deliberately turning his mind away from the unalterable past and toward the well-known rhythms of his present, watching McKay mutter and tap and hearing the comfortable sound of Teyla's soft voice and Ronon's deep rumble nearby.

He hears Jake approaching, sees him out of the corner of his eye, and seriously considers moving in the opposite direction, but in the end he can't do that. No matter what kind of twisted-up things he's feeling for Jake Chambers at the moment, the fact is he remembers being Jake Chambers, and he can't bring himself to walk away from him.

Jake stops beside him and just stands there, watching McKay with John, silent and small and all knees and elbows, like John remembers being.

"So, Sheppard," he says finally. "Did you kill dad?"

John snorts, unexpected and harsh, and looks down to find Jake Chambers smirking at him, one eyebrow cocked challengingly. "No, I didn't kill him," he says.

"Too bad," Jake murmurs, lips still quirked.

"Wow, you're... a little bitterer than I remember being," John says wryly, though the look Jake gives him says that he knows it for the lie it is.

"Mom's maiden name, huh." He scuffs a toe in the dirt; John sees he's wearing something like moccasins, undoubtedly hand-made, on his feet. "Why?" Jake asks, and John would attribute it to the oblivious way most kids tended to ask very personal questions, except that John knows this kid.

"All things serve the fucking beam," John quips, low and tight, and Jake starts, blinking up at him.

Then he nods. "Okay, yeah. Fair enough."

And then they stop talking because McKay comes stalking over, scowling. "It's no good, there's nothing here," he snaps, and jabs a finger accusingly at Jake. "It has to be however they got here, but it's completely dissipated, whatever it was." He glares at Jake expectantly.

"It was a door," Jake says unhelpfully, and smirks at Rodney's huff of displeasure.

John, in spite of himself, smirks, too.

Rodney looks at John and then at Jake, and shakes his head. "Well. That's just incredibly creepy in every conceivable way," he tells them conversationally. "If you and mini-me will excuse me, Colonel?"

He stomps off without waiting for a reply.

John watches Jake watch Rodney walk away, a bemused look on his face. "Mini-me?" he asks, looking up and catching John staring at him.

John shakes his head, but manages a smile. "Pop culture reference that would require way too much explanation," he not-explains.

Jake just nods. Then: "We're a Colonel?"

"A lieutenant-colonel," John clarifies. "In the Air Force."

Jake brightens. "Really? Do you...?"

"Yeah," John says, because there's no need for Jake to finish the question.

"Cool!" Jake beams, and John smiles back, but doesn't say anything, throat tight again. They turn at the same time and start back toward the others. Halfway there, just as John is starting to feel a little less like screaming, Jake says, low and brittle, "Did you really kill the house?"

John stops, and so does Jake, though for a minute he just stares at the ground, hands balled at his sides. After a few seconds, he looks up at John, face pale and strained with remembered fear, and John suddenly remembers the fucking place like he'd just lived it, remembers scrambling out of a window that screamed and tried to chew him up as it burned around him, remembers the glass in his hands and the three-inch long splinters the housekeeper had dug out of his palms and feet and ass (without ever telling his parents) and how he'd thrown up for about a year in an alley a couple of blocks away. How he'd had nightmares for two years afterward.

And it clearly hasn't been anywhere near as long ago for Jake as it has for John.

He crouches and gives Jake a long, solemn look. "I blew that fucking thing sky-high, Jake," he says, and pretends not to notice the way Jake's lower lip trembles as he sucks in a deep breath. "It thrashed and screamed and tried to take me with it, but it died. And I lived."

Jakes eyes blaze at him, bright with unshed tears, and John is unprepared for it when he flings himself against John's chest, and falls backward onto his ass on the ground. Even so, he ends up with Jake Chambers clutched against his chest, arms tight around his slim back, while Jake shudders and half-whispers, half-sobs, "How many of us didn't make it, do you think?" and John closes his eyes and swallows hard, because he's not sure he's got enough mental equilibrium left to deal with that thought today.

"We made it," he growls instead, "You and me, we're okay."

The storm passes quickly. John doubts Jake is any weepier than John had been when he had been Jake, and isn't surprised when Jake pulls away and rubs self-consciously at his face while John gets to his feet.

"Look," he says a little desperately, grasping at John's forearm as he starts to turn away. "It probably doesn't help, or, you know, mean anything, but. For what it's worth. I'm sorry I got saved and you didn't." And it's clear that he is sorry, his face pinched with misery, and John sighs and feels like an asshole.

He rubs his face, and looks away. When he looks back, Jake is looking over John's shoulder at something, so John turns and sees that everyone else is watching them. They aren't even pretending not to, and they've split up into two separate groups again, probably without even realizing it. Roland has abandoned his rock and is standing slightly behind Eddie and Susannah, and Ronon has put himself between Roland's group and Teyla and Rodney.

"Nosy," Jake mutters, but he's smiling a little, and John feels his lips curving into an answering smile.

"It's okay," John says, and it's a relief to be able to mean it. "I. I don't feel like I lost anything, Jake." The look Jake gives him is piercing, knowing, and John shrugs, because, yeah. They both know what John lost. But. "It's really okay," he repeats, and Jake nods.

John's watch beeps and he glances at it, then at Rodney, who looks anxiously back.

"We gotta go, Jake," John says, and gives Jake's shoulder a squeeze. "That's our curfew."

Jake frowns and rolls his eyes at John's lame attempt at humor; they split up and head to their respective teams.

"Let's wrap it up, folks," John orders briskly and unnecessarily, since the packs are ready to go – and John doesn't fail to notice that they're one pack short, though he doesn't think about it except to hope that Teyla got the medical kits and MREs out of the other packs as well -- and have been for a while, and the 'gate is no more than a hundred feet away.

"We don't have to," Rodney says, his gaze skittering from John to someplace behind John. John deliberately doesn't follow Rodney's gaze. "We could, Elizabeth would-"

John bends and scoops up McKay's pack, tossing it to him. Rodney catches it with a scowl and a whuf of breath, and John smirks. "Wraith to kill, galaxies to save, McKay."

He shoulders his own pack and slings the strap of his P90 over his shoulder, checks the velcro securing Rodney's tablet, surveys the area to make sure they aren't leaving anything behind, and doesn't let his gaze stray anywhere near Roland Deschain.

He looks at the rest of them, though, and it's both harder than he expected and easier to think about never seeing them again. "Susannah," he says, and smiles.

"Take care, sugar," she tells him, and her smile is genuine, but when Teyla approaches the two of them lean together, foreheads touching, and Teyla stays there for longer than John has ever seen her hold anyone. Susannah murmurs something soft and stretches up to kiss Teyla's cheek, and Teyla smiles and touches her face before stepping back.

"Eddie," John says, and Eddie grins back and holds out a hand, palm up, which John obligingly smacks.

"Stay cool," Eddie smirks.

"So I was thinking," Jake says, frowning up at John seriously. "Why John? What's wrong with Jake?"

"Not a thing," John says, ignoring the tight feeling in his chest. "I just got out of the habit. After the house thing, Mrs. Shaw only stayed around a couple more months. I think she felt my terrible teens coming on." They exchanged grins. "No one else ever called me Jake."

"Did you stay at Piper?" Jake makes a face as he says it that John silently agrees is exactly how he remembers feeling about Piper.

"Yeah. But then I gave dad a heart attack by going to MIT instead of Stanford, and running off to join the Air Force."

The look Jake gives him is pure admiration. "Did he disown you?"

"Yep," John says smugly.

"Cool," Jake breathes, and John's chest clenches a little more.

John can feel Rodney practically at his elbow, but for once he doesn't seem to be bristling with impatience or anything else, even though John and Jake aren't even saying anything now, just looking at one another silently. Eventually, John reaches into his shirt, wedging his hand under his vest, and captures his dogtags, tugging them up over his head. He hands them over to Jake without ceremony, and says, "Take care, Jake Chambers."

Jake stares at them for a few seconds, and then slips them over his head and under his own shirt. "You, too, John Sheppard. I'm. I'm really glad you made it."

John nods, smiles a little. "It's mutual. Look me up if you're ever back this way."

And there isn't anything left to do but look at Roland, to nod and force his voice to stay even and quiet when he says, "Good luck, Roland."

Roland nods back, pale eyes cool and distant, face still.

John turns away. "Move out," he orders, "Ronon, you're on point," and Teyla falls in beside Rodney wordlessly while John brings up the rear. It takes them all of two minutes to get to the gate, the shortest mission march ever, and Rodney dials without waiting to be told. John sends his IDC through, and smiles when Elizabeth's voice comes over his headset.

"You're on time, Colonel," she says, smile audible in her voice. "I take it things went well."

"Yep, not a whole lot going on over here, Atlantis. We're coming in."

Ronon and Teyla are through, just like that, and Rodney's finally demonstrating some of his trademark impatience, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Come along, Colonel, some of us have very important things to be... oh."

And maybe John would have looked back without the 'oh' or maybe he wouldn't have (he hadn't actually been planning to, but he's been known to throw planning to the winds on occasion), but the soft, unsurprised and not entirely pleased way Rodney says 'oh' has him turning before he thinks about it one way or the other.

It's Roland, and he's alone; John isn't surprised, he tells himself, and the bright-hot and breathless feeling in his chest is nothing.

"Hile, gunslinger," Roland says, slow and cautious. "Hile, John Sheppard."

John turns his face away for just a second, eyes closed, throat tight, and okay, yeah. So. He remembers this. He remembers loving Roland like nothing else.

Like he's never loved anything or anyone else until Atlantis.

"Colonel," Rodney says, quietly but urgently.

John can see Eddie and Jake and Susannah still a ways away, pointedly not looking in this direction at all, of course, because this is. Well. This is about as private as it got. He looks over his shoulder at Rodney.

"Go on through, Rodney," he says softly. "I'll be there in a minute."

But Rodney is beside him instead, the fingertips of one hand resting lightly on the back of John's hand. "Look," he says quietly, shooting a nervous little glance at Roland, and then pinning John with an intent look. "I don't know what, who he is to you, but I get that it's something. That it... matters to you. But we need you in Atlantis, Colonel. Atlantis needs you."

It takes John a few seconds to get what Rodney's saying, and the idea surprises him so completely that it must show on his face because Rodney blinks, and then immediately huffs out a breath.

"I'll be there in a minute, Rodney," John repeats, and jerks his head toward the wormhole. "Hold the door for me."

"Okay," Rodney says, and swallows. He darts a glance at Roland again, but just repeats, "Okay."

He waits until he hears Rodney go through before returning the greeting.

"Hile, gunslinger. Hile, Roland, son of Stephen." It feels like he's been waiting forever to say it, and he immediately feels almost giddy with relief.

Roland takes a couple of steps closer, and his eyes are still pale and cool, but John's sees his throat working for a few seconds before he says anything. "You look. You are the image of Cuthbert Allgood. More, even, than Eddie." He shakes his head, and the smile he attempts looks more like a grimace than anything else. "Think you that Jake will be the same?"

And it's so clearly an effort for Roland to say anything at all, that John doesn't even care that he doesn't know what the hell they're talking about. "Well, he looks just like my grade school pictures, so I think there's a pretty good chance."

"Ka is a wheel," Roland says like a sigh, and John's chest aches at how much older he looks than he does in John's memory. "Jake tells me that when you opened your door, we were not there. That you killed the demon in that place and made your own way." John just nods; he doesn't trust his voice. "So," he says soft and bitter, almost to himself. "I let you fall again."

"Roland."

"I cry your pardon, John Sheppard," Roland says, voice harsh with something that isn't anger.

"I didn't fall," John grates out desperately. "I didn't fall, Roland. You didn't kill me."

And Roland actually looks so surprised for a second that John wants to laugh, though it's short-lived, as Roland closes his eyes for several seconds, going utterly still. He opens his eyes again before John can figure out what to say, and he looks normal again, face quiet, eyes pale. He stares at John for long, silent seconds, before finally saying, "No. Somehow, I didn't."

Then he smiles, a real smile that seams his face into something altogether different, a memory so distant that John has lost the shape of it, even in his dreams. "We are well met, John Sheppard, we are well met, our two ka-tets."

"Yeah," John agrees thickly. "We are."

**

Rodney's the last one to show up, and he looks both hesitant and defiant when John answers the door. He relaxes as soon as he sees Ronon and Teyla, however, and smiles a crooked, tentative smile.

"Are you here for story-time, Rodney?" John smirks, drawing Rodney's name out in the exact way that he knows Rodney hates. Rodney just smirks back and opens both hands to reveal several chocolate bars, probably acquired through avenues of dubious legality. Ronon grunts his approval, and John steps aside to let him in.

Rodney flops down on John's bed like he owns it and doles out chocolaty goodness.

John thinks the door closed and settles up at the head of the bed where he can rest his back against the pillows. He pokes Rodney in the ribs with his toes until Rodney scoots down, grumbling, giving John some room.

They'd shown up, one by one, no invitation issued or needed. He'd been pretty sure they would. John thinks he should feel nervous, maybe, but he doesn't. Ronon is watching him patiently, his left cheek improbably distended by an entire Baby Ruth. Teyla smiles encouragingly at him because Teyla is always supportive whether you need it or not, and eats her M & M's one at a time. Rodney has inhaled one Reeses Peanutbutter Cup, and passes the other one in the package to John. He then steals John's KitKat and breaks off two bars for himself.

John peels the brown paper off his peanutbutter cup and takes a deep breath.

"When I was eleven, I died," he begins.


End file.
